The Garden

I have been trying to grow a garden in my depleted and miserable soil for about three years now, mostly because I have felt that with a third of an acre, I should take the opportunity to follow the counsel of the Lord and my own heritage. But I'm not that great at growing things any more. The first year, I got about six tiny tomatoes and a whole lot of chewed off stems. Last year, I got about a dozen tomatoes, some onions, a miniscule pepper and a whole lot of chewed off stems.

This year, things are looking a little more promising. The Snails (and if you met them, you would know why it is capitalized) are mostly gone. My plants are surviving, though not yet flourishing. I'm still having problems getting enough water to them, and I am frankly getting a bit frustrated.

Why am I spending so much time and money to grow something that comes quicker, easier, and tastier from the Farmer's Market?

As a single mom with too many projects, I don't get to weed as often as I would like. The morning glory, especially, is very thankful to me for creating such a nicely fertilized area to grow. Just last week, they were knee high, tangling up my pumpkin and tomatoes. Finally, I decided that I cared less about getting the girls to bed on time and more about freeing my choking produce. So I got down and started to weed in earnest.

The girls were playing nearby, exploring the wilds of my backyard. Eventually, bored of other pursuits, they wandered over to oversee my weeding. Up until this point, they have been utterly disinterested in my gardening efforts, despite my efforts to get them excited.

But Ely started asking me questions. "What is this? Is it a weed?"
"Yes, that is morning glory."
"Can I pull it?"
"Sure! Just twist a little, don't pull straight up. Perfect! Good job."
"I did it!"

And it went from there. Soon, she was enthusiastically quizzing me on the plants in the garden, how to pull the weeds, what kinds of vegetables we could expect, and why some of them died instead of growing. She organized her sister to take the failed radishes to the compost pile. She had dirt up to her elbows and ground under her nails.

As she was pulling grass out from between the peas, she said, "I can't wait until we get to pick some of this!" And I sincerely hoped we would this year.

"I like weeding, mom!"
"Good! I'm glad to hear it. Why do you like weeding?"
"It's fun to get dirty!" Go figure. "We should do this every day!"

And that's when I realized why the Lord asks us to garden. It isn't about saving money. It's about teaching ourselves and our children about life. Gardening is a metaphor, yes, but there is something magical about getting your fingers in the soil and following one of the oldest commandments.

"And the Gods took the man and put him in the Garden of Eden, to dress it and to keep it." 
Abraham 5:11

An Etheree of Hope

As
cold truth
pierces the
thin skin of hope,
it brings fear for friends,
terror of enemies,
but renewal of bright hope,
as one Truth shines more vividly
than any tiny, diamond-sharp
fact of coldly aging life,
warming the darkest night
spent in shuddered tears
and trembling death
of young hopes,
kindling
peace.

The Ugly

Imagine if someone loved you so well, that even when you were at your worst: cranky, horrible, frustrated, and unpleasant, and even if they didn't want to be around you AT ALL, they were able to just hold you, rock you, and softly touch your face.

This morning, Ria was terrible. Every "no" turned into a temper tantrum. Screaming at the top of her lungs, unable to calm herself down. For nearly a hour, I tried to speak patiently to her, I eventually lost my temper and yelled back, felt terrible and went to trying to soothe her again, all to no avail. For once, I was actually looking forward to the prospect of dropping her off at daycare.

We got in, and she was still gasping from the aftermath of her tantrum. I was running late, later than I've been before. I needed to get to work. But suddenly, I didn't care. I sat down on a tiny chair sized for toddlers, held her in my lap, rocked her and told her how much I loved her, and that everything was going to be okay. Before I left, she calmed down enough to be able to eat her breakfast.

I am so frustrated with my work in specific, and my life in general. I feel completely out of control, in trouble for things I have no control over. Pressured to do things a certain way by people. I don't deal well with feeling incompetent, incapable, and utterly lost.

I know, from experience, that the most innocent of mistakes have permanent consequences. I can't imagine being in a position where my weaknesses and ugliness shows, and having someone still want to hold me and love me.

But, for this morning, I was able to be that for my daughter. And that was almost as good.

Smell of Mud

There is something about the smell of damp earth that energizes me. I'm not a great gardener, yet. But it is in my genes to grow things. I used to have quite a green thumb with houseplants, though my thumb is more of a pale lime right now. I managed to keep herbs growing all winter in my windowsill, the first time in two years of trying.

And right now, I have peas, beans, and radish seeds germinating, thick and strong (unlike the thin, spindly seedlings I was warned would grow in a windowsill.)

Last year, my garden was decimated by snails or slugs. I finally beat them, but it was too late for my garden to completely recover. I only got a few potent tomatoes, a few tiny jalapenos, and some onions. But I have onions still, garlic coming, and maybe some sage will come back.

This year, I plan pumpkins, sunflowers (courtesy of my 2-year-old,) and some beautiful purple, pink, and white flowers whose name escapes me at the moment, because my 5-year-old wanted to grow something beautiful.

I'm also planning to attack the weedfest that is my back yard. Hopefully, I can clear out some dead wood and the Japanese Beetles with it. Watch out, pests! I'm coming!!!

Good Girl

Ria loves to get up early. Even though their wake time is 6 a.m., she is usually up by 5:45 a.m., trying to help me make lunches, put on makeup, or whatever I'm doing at the moment.

She especially loves it when I put lotion on my face and "forget" to rub some of it in.

This morning, I was just done showering when she woke up. She knocked on the door (a minor miracle, itself) and when I responded, she promptly went over to the couch, tucked herself in, and read stories to herself.

As soon as I got out, she said, "I laid on the couch, Mama!"

I responded, "yes, I can see that! What a good girl, just laying quietly on the couch and reading instead of waking up your sister. Thank you!"

Perfectly satisfied, she put down her book and followed me into the kitchen to help make lunches for the day.

Cooking Someone

I was walking around the house, picking up various items and putting them away while the girls played in their room. As I walked by, I heard the distressed little voice of my eldest, "Don't! Don't put them in there. You know, you are cooking someone in there!"

Naturally, I had to stick my head in to see what was going on.

The youngest was diligently trying to put her My Little Ponies "to bed" in the play kitchen's microwave.

The altercation ended when Ely (the eldest) said, "Fine, go ahead and cook them! They're YOUR babies."